


Ka'ra

by BayBee45



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Reader-Insert, Tatooine (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BayBee45/pseuds/BayBee45
Summary: Always scanning the crowd Jabba the Hutt notices his favoured bounty hunter staring at his new toy. You.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Deals with mature subjects (slavery, women being objects, canon typical violence)

The air was stale and seasoned heavily with spiced t'bac smoke. Each inhale burned your lungs as if the roasting-spit fire behind, had actually been set up between your ribs. Searing their edges with each breath and charring your heart. The jewel tone fabric of your barely their outfit only cemented the notion you were forced to swallow, to accept as truth; you were an object, a thing. To be looked at, lusted for, and eventually replaced once the sparkle of your newness was eroded away by greedy, corrosive hands.  
For now you wait, laying as still as possible next to the humid belly of the dozing Hutt, counting the seconds as they slowly dripped away. If you are nothing more then an ornament on Jabba's slab of a throne. He is nothing more then a snot nosed child, who had pushed and murdered his way to where he now sits. A king on top of a putrid garbage pile. A crime lord overseeing a kingdom of filth, scum and treachery. His palace was as oppressive as the afternoon heat outside, a place where bright futures come to wither and die.  
An excited whisper enters Jabba the Hutt’s ear as he and the crowd begin to stir. A silent anticipation was growing loud in the hushed room. It was punctured only by the clinking of metal descending down the entrances stairs. Curiosity gets the better of you overriding your fear of punishment. You look up from your own predicament to view another’s.  
A man in green Mandalorian armor enters, a halo of musty light forms behind him. He brings with him a dead men. A breathing corpse. Fear had clawed itself so deep into the Rodian’s face, terror oozed out with each reluctant step forward. After a swift kick to the back of prisoners legs, he falls before the Hutt and like a house of cards he folds onto himself. Dust dances and twirls around after each laboured breath from the Rodian’s trembling body.  
The dead men's mouth quivers as mumbled words try to make their way out. ‘Please’ you hear finally manage to slip past. The word not even able to lift off the floor, shudders and gasps. It lies dead besides him before it could even reach the Hutt’s ears. The Rodian drags his eyes like an arduous weight off the floor, latching onto yours. Desperate. Pleading. Not for mercy but for the only thing you can give; sympathy. (Sympathy: the comfort in knowing you are seen. To be seen; the personal belief that your presence was felt by others.) So like a solemn hug after terminal diagnosis you hold onto his gaze tight. In it's reflection you see yourself; standing there at the mercy of Jabba and his childish whims. With each passing day you know your own value decreases. It is only a matter of time befo— the trapdoor opens. The screams of the Rodian are quickly enveloped by the jeers of the blood thirsty audience's own rowdy shouts. They in turn are only quieted by the sound of a spine snapping crunch of the beast's jaws. An eerie silence always seems to follow. It lingers only momentarily, swept away by Jabba's hand motioning towards the band to play one of his favourite tunes. Everything carries on as normal and lets face it, nothing out of the ordinary happened.  
You have not been around the Hutt long enough to understand his bellowing tongue but you could tell he was talking about you, because his grubby hands passed your leash off to his Majordomo, a rat of a men, Bib Fortuna. His beady-eyes and sharpened and pointy teeth only reinforce your theory. Without warning Jabba's rat pulls you forward. Barely able to catch yourself, you struggle to get a footing and keep up behind him. He drags you through the debauch crowd still gathered around the viewing grille, watching the rancor finish off the last bits of the Rodian. He pulls you past them with steady and uncompassionate pace.  
"For you Boba Fett, as thanks from Jabba the Hutt. For dealing with the last problem in record time. And bringing today some much needed, uh, entertainment." Bib speaks in a sugary sweet voice that causes the few occupants of your stomach to threaten to leave.  
Whipping you towards the man wearing tarnish green armor, you stumble into his lap. The rat then pulls your heavy chain taut, bringing you inches from his sharpened teeth. Your knuckles lose blood flow and you're positive bruises would’ve been left on the man's legs if it wasn't for his armor, as you try desperately to avoid being pulled any closer to the Majordomo noxious breath.  
"Make him happy and don't try anything, if you do..." The rat sneers and his free hand clutches your face, his long and yellowed claws dig deep into your soft skin.  
"... Jabba said next time he wont care if I bruise up your pretty little face." His tongue darts across his lips, savouring each word of his threat, his promise. Each hot syllable spewed out of his mouth, felt like a slap hitting you hard across the face. They left a swelling, invisible mark. The sting of it now has tears threatening escape.  
"Enough." Demanded Boba. It froze your tears, like a thin layer of ice in place and sent a chill down your spin. His voice was deep and expectant, he was not someone who was used to being disobeyed you quickly concluded. 

“Remove the collar.”

"Ar-are you sure? She is new, and still a little... wild."  
Boba cocked his head, amused by the notion that you had caused enough trouble to evoke such a warning. He shuffles you around as if you were a paper doll. You now half faced him and half faced the henchmen. Boba made sure the lock of your collar was facing Bib as an answer to the Majordomo concerns.  
"Very well." Conceded Bib. Who takes extra time and added pleasure of causing you more discomfort as he roughly frees you from one of your two constraints. Avoiding eye contact with either of your captors, you focus down at the second: A long delicate but strong chain tying both your wrist together.  
“Leave us.” And with that Bib scuttles back to his master, and leaves you alone with your temporary one. Boba would never admit to it but he had been transfixed by you the moment he entered the dingy throne room and saw you defiantly look up at him. Your quiet confidence had captured his thoughts and his recurring gaze. So much so that Jabba had notice. Bibs concerns and warnings only made him more intrigued by you. Boba couldn’t say what the color of your eyes are in this dimly lit alcove, but he could feel the fire behind them. Your tear stained, watercolour painted eyes couldn't hide the burning beneath. They matched the power of the twin suns of Tatooine he thought. You fascinated Boba more then any other gift Jabba had offered him before.  
"Ka'ra." He thinks out loud, barely able to be heard above the music and hum of those in the room. It hits your shoulder, causing them to slump under its weight briefly before you can straighten again. Some sort of slang or vulgar term you assume. Then for a long time— a minutes or so— you just sit there. An offering waiting to be used but his gloved acidic hands lay idle.  
Something warm runs across your skin, your frozen tears had somehow managed to thaw and are now escaping down your face. They sizzled and burned your cheeks the same way rain would, if its droplets were to fall on the sun-baked sandy ground outside. You look away from the bounty hunter and mistakenly towards the roving eyes of Jabba. He does not like to see his playthings cry. Especially when they are entertaining a favoured guest. His booming voice sends his henchman scurrying towards you with a malice glint in his eyes, his promise so quickly to be satisfied.  
You quickly turn yourself around straddling Boba and putting your arms around— He roughly grabs your wrists. The chain of your shackles clinks as it hits the hard metal of his helmet. Placing your hands against his armored chest, he makes sure none of the chain had gotten behind him. Instincts had taken over, protecting himself from an unforeseen attack. Boba’s hands then quickly find the back of your thighs pushing you closer to him. Only for a split second does a hand leave your bare skin, motioning to the Majordomo. Waving him away like a pest. His touch wasn't how you imagined. It was soft almost... kind. In sharp contrast to how he dealt with your wrists, they still felt the dull ache from his reprimand.  
"Ka'ra." He said as you stare lost into his emotionless visor, looking at a familiar but unknown reflection. Ka’ra? He said it like it was your name. Your name? You can barely remember it. Like a foreign word it makes your tongue feel thick and stupid.  
After you were sold, you would use your name like a swear word every time the slavers tried to beat the individual out. You recited it like a fervent prayer each night. Until one day you realized, no one was listening. No one would be rescuing you. And Names? Names are for people not things. The next day you were deemed ready and gifted to the great and powerful Jabba the Hutt.  
The bounty hunter suddenly stands up taking you out of your thoughts and up with him.  
"Come." He orders as he lowers you back to the ground. You follow him up the back stairway through cavernous belly of Jabbas' palace. There is no fight, there is no point. Choice is not a freedom you have. Besides a man receiving gift from Jabba is not a man to be trifled with.


	2. A Taste

The Sunlight.  
That was the first thing you noticed. The room was bathed in it. It poured in through a small circular window like a broken tap. It was beautiful. You wanted to run through it, scoop it up and splash your face in it. Drop to the floor, waist deep and float in its warm embrace. 

The Dust. That was the second. It was everywhere. There was a seascape of dust, whose tides fell and rose according to the last time the area was in use. The few pieces of furniture in the room seemed irritable. Aged veterans, battered and worn from their lives.  
Still, everything seemingly had its place and was in said place. Everything, except you.  
You stand still, gasping for air. Quietly drowning in a room flooded in sunlight and dust.

Boba takes a hold of your wrist and silently examines the golden bracelets of your restraints. As if to say; Let's see what can be done about this.  
Reaching for something above the doorframe, Boba brings down a small tarnished object. You eye it in the same way a weathered and scorched soul would look at a cold glass of water. It was key, a taste of freedom.  
Once freed, you excitedly swing your arms around. Separately! The joy was real, palpable, as if you were a child succeeding at a task for the first time. A small crease forms on your face. A smile frees itself from its long held bondage. You quickly captured it. Looking up you wondering if he caught the silly smile before you were able to tuck it away. If he did, nothing was mentioned as he guides you to the end of the bed.  
"Sit." 

The bed complains loudly against your weight, upset that you had the audacity to disturb it. Its disgruntled sigh slowly fades, taken over by the unclicking of his armor and the controlled thud of metal hitting floor. With each new addition to the floor another plume of dust is sent upwards.  
(By Stars, can he hear it? The sound of your heart ricocheting through you, desperately trying to break its way free.)

Dust dances a second time for you today. Leaping and twirling through the dripping sunbeams.

Still in his undershirt and pants, Boba carefully position his helmet on a desk that had seen better days. It was battle scarred, balancing itself on three legs because the fourth was missing a piece of itself. Lost in some unknown, hard-won conflict.  
Boba now directs his attention back to you. Having escaped it's cage, your heart makes itself at home in your ears. He holds your chin in between his finger and thumb as he parts your legs with his knee. You put up a paper dolls weight of resistance. Just enough, but if he thought about for too long he would think it was just imagined.  
Tear stained eyes meet coffee stained. He seemed to mirror his room. Older then his years and worn down by life. But beyond the hard edges, there seemed to be something hidden.

"Ka'ra..." That word again. This time it pours out his mouth and onto your lap like a bubbly soft drink. A sugary sweetness coats your ears. It fizzes and tickles, making you shift uncomfortably. Pretty sounds don't always have sweet meanings.  
"... Can I kiss you?"  
You scoff at the question, at the absurdity.  
"What if I said no." You wonder out loud, testing the veneer of his question.  
"I would ask nicer." He replied in a softer tone, leaning you back against the bed. His one arm holding the majority his weight as the other caressed your cheek.  
'And if I said 'no' again?"  
This time his thumb catches your bottom lip parting your mouth partially.  
"Just one. Just a taste."  
Your eyebrows scrunch at his words.  
"Just one kiss?" You ask but he takes it as an invitation. He is gentle. It’s not what you expect. Breaking away he leans his forehead against yours.  
"Get some rest. I'm going to take a shower... a cold one."  
He leaves you alone in a new prison masquerading as a sanctuary. You didn't think— you don't know what to think. Maybe he's like a Lothcat toying with its food. The catch is always more fun when the prey thinks it has a chance.

You take your chances and silently wade through the different tides your new surrounding. First you find the small tarnished key for yourself. Then quickly glance over his armor. Next you notice an imposing and exasperated looking armoire. The doors screech defiantly as you open them, it is clearly a relative to the bed.  
An idea was forming. Scratching at the soft corner of your mind where you had long ago buried any sliver of hope, like a long forgotten treasure— The water in the fresher stops. You take it as your que and quietly try get back into the obstinate bed. The thread-bare sheets feel nice against your skin.  
You slow your breathing and pretend to be asleep. Listening to Bobas shuffling feet, you try to plot his course in the newly formed map in your head.  
First he walks to the far side of the room to where his helmet is. Then walking back you could hear him shift his armour around. Finally you hear the armoire doors complaining once again. Then for a long time, you hear nothing. Nothing until the sound of him disappearing back into the fresher again.  
The fresher door opens with a strained whoosh as he emerges once more. The bed loudly objects against another uninvited guest. Your heart revisits its second home, before slowly returning to its rightful place. Leaving only the sound of a mans gently and steady breathing beside you. Soon your own breathing begins to synchronize with his. Flashes of buried silver and a tarnished key fill your mind as you begin to drift off. 

~~~~~~~~~

There is a loud and obligatory knock before a rat scurries in without concern for permission. Bib studies the scene with shifting eyes;  
A man, bare-chest and glistening and a crumpled paper doll beside him in clothes that not so much needed to be removed just moved aside. Only a handful of conclusions could be jumped to. And the truth? The truth was so far fetched it didn't even enter the vermin’s small mind. 

A gruff and loosely formed "What?" leaves Boba's mouth. You hear only bits and pieces of the conversation swirling around you, your world still cushioned by sleep.  
"A job... Two more... Money?...Jabba slave..." Your ears awake mid sentence at the mention of you.  
"— we can talk more in the morning, about your next job and payment when you bring back the girl."  
Boba turns over towards you as the door closes. His hand glides across your stomach and his thumb rest in the valley of were your two ribs meet.  
"Hungry?" He questions.  
The offer of food was something you could not resist. For weeks now you had only been given a soup, you imagined the consistency close to what it would be like eating your own vomit, cooled and then heated just enough to take the chill off. You pretend to start waking up.

"Quit the act."  
Quit the act? He has no idea. You turned to face him with a glimmer in your eye. A new hope burning bright, a plan was about to be set in motion. As wobbly as a new born Dugar dugar but you'll be running with it soon.

And Boba?  
He saw that glimmer blazing brighter then any star in the known galaxy. Boba wonder how you held the depths of the universe in your eyes. A secret riddle he hoped would never be solved, so they could constantly be search through for an answer.


End file.
